Someone Like You
by Brunette
Summary: After 18 years of guarding a horrible secret, all Jemima wants is a second chance. All Dave Daniels wants is lost time. All Cara Lee wants is love. All Beni Gabor wants is a lucrative opportunity. All Benjamin wants is an escape. [a sequel to It Ain't Me, Babe.]
1. cara lee

**_Author's Note._**_ Whaaaat? A sequel? Why on earth would that happen? Because I don't believe in satisfying conclusions, obviously. And I'm avoiding the next chapter of Enchantress sort of like the plague (sorry, Sarcastic Raccoon). Hopefully this thrills more people than just YOU, Bootsy. ;) Actually, ya'll have claimed to be able to read stories in this universe forever, and I'm apparently going to test your resolve on that one._

**_Disclaimer. _**_The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios. The title and quote from the beginning of this chapter are taken from the song "Someone Like You" by Adele, because screw finding another Johnny Cash song, I guess (I actually love Johnny Cash. Let's not start a war over that). The ranch and setting take a heavy cue from the film _Giant_. As far as I know, Blackbird, Texas is a town of my own invention. _

* * *

**SOMEONE LIKE YOU**

* * *

old friend, why are you so shy?  
ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light  
i hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited  
but i couldn't stay away, i couldn't fight it  
i had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded  
that for me, it isn't over.

**cara lee.**

_The Ritz-Carlton: Houston, Texas, 1941_

She laid there next to him in white sheets, in a white room. She laid there next to him in the bright sunlight, in a part of Texas that didn't know it was winter. She laid there perfect and naked, her hair in a black disarray about the pillow, and she puffed on a cigarillo. She watched the smoke dance its lazy way up to the ceiling, twisting in the sunlight like a sheet on the line. She was thinking about her lipstick, and trying to remember if she'd put it in her handbag before stealing away on a dubious shopping trip.

She hadn't gone shopping.

She laid there knowing she'd smell like tobacco and _his_ cologne. Knowing her lips were swollen from his kisses and her skin was flushed from his touch. At the moment she didn't care about all of those things. Mr. Carver wouldn't lean close enough to smell the smoke or cologne. At best he'd look at her from across the room and raise his eyebrows, and say, _Nothin' to show for the hunt, huh?_ Because her hands would be empty of shopping bags. He wouldn't smell_ him_ on her. But he might notice that her lipstick had been kissed off.

This was the fourth time, and she supposed she was hiding it well enough.

Mr. Carver really wasn't the sort to notice. He stopped noticing her long ago. And she really didn't care if he did notice or not. She_ did_ care if the girls found out, but she didn't think -

"I'm gonna leave her," he said suddenly.

She turned away from the smoke in a flash, and stared at him with wide, blue-green eyes. "What?"

"I'm done. I can't take it no more."

She swallowed nervously, and put her cigarillo out in the ashtray on the bedstand. She propped herself up on her elbow, and looked him steadily in the eye.

"Are you sure?" she asked, very quietly.

His eyes were certain, but his mouth twitched with something that looked like second thoughts to her.

"Yeah," he said after a moment.

She nodded her head, and pretended to study her red fingernails against the sheet.

"Are you sure?" she asked again.

He let out something like a snort. "Didn't I say I was?"

"Alright, Dave."

"What's that tone about?" he demanded.

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him quizzically. "Beg your pardon?"

His face was impatient and incredulous. "Oh, come on, Cara Lee. I been livin' with womenfolk long enough to know. What's with the tone?"

She sighed. "Honey, you know I ain't ready..."

Now he sighed, terse and heavy. "I don't know what you bein' ready's got to do with it._ I'm_ ready. I can get the ball rollin' even if you ain't."

"Alright, Dave."

"But I don't know what you're waitin' on, anyways," he added with a grumble.

She sat up in bed, and brought the sheet with her. "You do too know. I got my girls to think about."

He stared back at her with wide eyes. "Don't I got my own kids to think about, too?"

She shook her head. "It ain't the same thing, Dave. I'm the mama. It's different - "

"Don't see how it is."

She swallowed hard. She reached a hand over and took his, lacing her fingers through his. She looked up at him very seriously. "I wanna be with you, Dave. More'n anything. But I ain't ready yet. You can't ask me to rip my girls' home apart right in front of 'em...You can't ask me to do that."

He glanced at their hands. "Lots 'a folks get divorced these days, Cara Lee."

She pressed her lips together, and glanced down. "It's just such a mess..."

He snorted loudly, and glared up at some point across the room - probably north in the direction of Blackbird, Texas. "Yeah, well. We both know who's to blame for that."

Cara Lee sucked in a determined little breath. "Well. I ain't about to punish my girls for what she's done."

"We keep this up, they're bound to find out."

Her gaze jerked up to his, and she shook her head desperately. "They won't find out. I won't let 'em."

He stared back at her with a kind of smug incredulousness she knew he didn't mean to look as cruel as it did. He just had that way about him, when he was right and he knew it. He had that way about him. He was impatient and he wanted everyone to acknowledge he was right the moment before they even realized it. She winced under his gaze, and closed her eyes against his pointed words:

"Barbara's gettin' plenty big, honey."

"I won't let 'em find out," she said again quietly.

He sighed. She felt his gaze stray from her to the nearest clock. "How long's it usually take you to shop for a dress?"

Despite herself, a smile tugged at her lips. "Sometimes days."

He laughed. "Alright, then."

Cara Lee took a deep breath and looked up into his eyes. "I love you, Dave. I always have. And I can't abide Mr. Carver much longer. But I gotta know what I'm gonna do about the girls first. Barb's fixin' to be a cheerleader this year, and...I mean, you gotta know. The little ones won't mind so much, I reckon. But draggin' her all the way to Blackbird in the middle 'a high school...? We gotta at least wait til summer. She won't mind so bad in summer..."

He reached a hand to her face, and stared back at her. Her lips trembled and her breath caught in her throat to see him looking at her that way.

"We'll work it out, honey. But I been waitin' for you comin' on eighteen years, and I can't hardly sit still now that you're right here with me."

She nodded feebly, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed her hard and pushed her back against the sheets and the sunlight, taking her with the urgency he'd taken her when they were so much younger, out under the stars. She closed her eyes to the sunlight and imagined they were there again, young and foolish in the tall grass. She imagined he wasn't married and she wasn't married, and that they hadn't had children with anybody else. She imagined it was just them again, and pretended that perhaps they could make it that way. Maybe they could. He promised her they could.

She gasped at his touch, and the touch of him between her legs, and forgot. In a beautiful haze she forgot about everybody else - the daughters she loved and the husband who'd grown cold and Dave's wife, whom she couldn't help but despise. She forgot about all of them and all the ways they would certainly be affected by this secret meeting in a hotel room.

She forgot about everything, because she was Cara Lee McCoy and he was Dave Daniels, and everyone knew - had always known - they belonged together.


	2. naomi

**_Disclaimer. _**_The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios. The title is taken from the song "Someone Like You" by Adele, because screw finding another Johnny Cash song, I guess (I actually love Johnny Cash. Let's not start a war over that). The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from the song "I Won't Tell 'Em Your Name" by the Goo Goo Dolls. The ranch and setting take a heavy cue from the film _Giant_. As far as I know, Blackbird, Texas is a town of my own invention. _

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**SOMEONE LIKE YOU**

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now we're grown up orphans  
that never knew their names,  
don't belong to no one, that's a shame.  
you can hide beside me  
maybe for a while  
and i won't tell no one your name,  
i won't tell 'em your name

**naomi.**

_The Daniels' Ranch: Blackbird, Texas, 1941_

"Honey, don't - "

Naomi ignored her husband's warning and pulled an assortment of envelopes and magazines and catalogues out of her brother's mailbox. She pretended not to listen to Bernard grumbling about how it was rude to go through other people's mail, _even if they _are_ kin, honey. _She breathed an impatient sigh and started up the walk to the porch, flipping past a JC Penney's catalogue and a collection of household bills until she came to an official-looking manila envelope with a return address somewhere in the near vicinity of Washington, D.C. It was addressed to a Benjamin Gabor. She stopped where she stood, and huffed a sigh.

"Well, guess they really done it, then," she muttered, holding it up so Bernard could see. He stared stubbornly away.

"Honey, I don't care if they_ do_ buy a Rolls-Royce. Ain't no business 'a mine - "

Naomi gave him a swat and put the envelope right under his nose. "That ain't what I'm talkin' about, Bernard."

She heard him suck in a little breath, and he glanced up at her helplessly. They shared a glance in the silence.

"You know I love Dave, but he can be such a jackass," she muttered after a moment, shaking her head at the envelope.

Bernard sighed. "Honey, I don't think there's a body in Texas don't know how you feel about your brother right now..."

But Naomi was already into it. She tucked the envelope and the rest of the mail under her arm, huffing irritably to herself as she trudged up the porch steps. "Make that boy change 'is name like he done a thing wrong. Ain't his fault. I'm mad as a hornet with Jem, pullin' a stunt like that. But it ain't Benji's fault. He got no reason punishin' that boy and makin' him change 'is name..."

Naomi pushed open the front door and Bernard caught it before it could close in his face. She strode across the parlor in a manner she must have thought was sunny and nonchalant. She burst into the kitchen and strained a smile for Betsy and Benjamin, eating pancakes in silence.

"That any way to greet your aunt?"

They mumbled a hello, and she rolled her eyes. "Both 'a ya'll could use a cup 'a coffee."

Betsy let out a sigh, stretching her arms over her head and yawning. "I had one. But pancakes always make me so sleepy..."

Naomi breathed a little snort and dropped the mail in the middle of the table before hurrying over to start a fresh pot of coffee.

"Somethin' in there for you, Benji," she said after a moment.

Benjamin blinked his bleary eyes and flipped through the mail half-heartedly. He must have been too tired to notice Naomi and Bernard watching him. He found the manila envelope and let out a loud sigh, running a thoughtful finger over the name on the address. He shrugged his shoulders stiffly and pushed it to the side, returning his attention to his pancakes.

Naomi glanced across the room at her husband, and he shrugged helplessly. She took a breath, abandoning the coffee to go to Benji's side and put a hand on his shoulder. His body tensed at her touch, but she gave him a reassuring squeeze. She told him in a quiet murmur:

"I don't care what your name is, you still my nephew and I love you." She touched his face and made him look her in the eye. "I _love_ you."

He breathed an uncomfortable sigh and nodded his head. She smiled sadly, and went back to finish making the coffee. He seemed relieved that she'd left his side.

"Honey, why don't we go - "

"Now I'm almost done with this coffee," she retorted, suddenly flustered. "And I mean to have a cup - "

"Naomi - "

But it was too late for Bernard to clarify what his wife had failed to infer. The front door opened and swung shut again, and heeled footsteps clicked their way across the parlor. Naomi didn't bother to stifle a groan when the kitchen door opened and Jemima walked in. She stopped in her tracks and sucked in a breath, staring in surprise at her sister-in-law for a moment before quickly turning her attention to the kitchen table. She caught sight of the catalogue Betsy was idly flipping through, and her mouth jerked irritably.

"So that's where the mail's gone off to."

"Naomi thought we'd bring it in for you," Bernard said, too anxious to sound nonchalant.

Jemima raised her eyebrows. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned to Naomi.

"You know, after all the things you've said to David and me, I believe you've lost all claims to whatever dubious excuse you always believed entitled you to our mail."

Bernard started to say, "You're right," and went to pull his wife out of the room and their house, but Naomi planted her feet on the floor and sniffed.

"You got no cause puttin' on airs with me."

Jemima scoffed. "Then get out of my house. Is that clear enough for you?"

Naomi's eyes narrowed. She jerked her elbow out of Bernard's grasp. "You went along with changin' Benji's name. Don't bother you at all, him not bein' a Daniels any more."

Jemima pursed her lips and let out an impatient sigh. She met Naomi's gaze with a particularly British brand of aloofness. "You might recall he never _was_ a Daniels."

Naomi shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you."

Jemima threw up her hands. "Not that anyone owes you an explanation, Naomi, but it's what Benjamin wanted."

Naomi's gaze jerked away from her sister-in-law in surprise; she knew Benji could feel her confused frown against his face, but he wouldn't look up from twisting his fork in the last traces of maple syrup on his empty plate.

_"You_ changed your name, Benji?"

He swallowed nervously and shrugged his shoulders.

"Why?"

Jemima took a protective step between Naomi and the kitchen table, and leveled a glare at her sister-in-law. "That isn't any of your business, Naomi. Really, if you insist on broadcasting to everyone within earshot just how disgusted you are with David and me, you can hardly expect us to keep you privy to our decisions."

Naomi crossed her arms over her chest. "Family's family."

"Then start treating us like your family! Heavens!"

Bernard took Naomi's elbow again, giving her a gentle tug in the direction of the door. "Honey, we really oughtta - "

"Well beg your pardon if I'm the only one still gives a damn what folks think about the Daniels's!" She shot a glare at Benjamin. "Folks is liable to think my brother's awful cold-hearted, switchin' his name like he don't give a lick about 'im no more - "

"Naomi," Jemima said, her voice raised in something like a threat.

"And they_ already_ got plenty to say about him in Houston all the damn time."

Jemima met Naomi's eyes evenly in the brief but hard little silence that followed. She breathed a shaking sigh and told her, "David has business in Houston."

"Business 'a gettin' a married woman on her back," Naomi grumbled, looking to the ceiling for strength.

"That's_ not_ what he's doing."

Naomi raised her eyebrows and started to retort something before remembering Betsy there at the table, watching their argument with wide, interested eyes. She let out a loud sigh and eyed Jemima for a suspicious moment before turning on her heels and striding for the door.

"C'mon, Bernard, I don't got all day to wait for you in the kitchen."

Her husband stumbled hurriedly after her, much too far behind to get either the kitchen or the front door for her. She stormed into the cool December morning and out to her car, managing to cast a disgusted glance at her brother's house for good measure. Bernard jogged to her side and snagged the passenger door for her before she could fling it back on its hinges.

"Woman's a piece 'a work," she muttered under her breath, settling into her seat with a _hrumph_.

Bernard sighed, slipping wearily into his seat. He took off his glasses and rubbed his face. "Shouldn'ta gone through their mail, honey..."

"Ah, horse shit," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "I _know_ you ain't stupid enough to think that's the cause 'a all this."

"Well," he sighed, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, "certainly didn't help."

Naomi rolled her eyes, and then settled an emphatic glare on her husband. "What's the matter with folks these days, anyway? Did they drink too much 'a the water in Egypt or what? Feel like they all went completely cuckoo ever since comin' back."

Bernard sighed and started the car.

"And what's the matter with my brother, gallivantin' around with Cara Lee Carver like they still in high school? Both of 'em's full grown and know better. Ain't no excuse for that nonsense."

"I know, honey," Bernard said wearily.

"Say what you will about Jem - and you _know_ I don't got much good to say about that woman - but you don't see her sneakin' around with no future-mister-whatever. There's a little thing called bein' the bigger person, and my brother don't give even quarter a damn about playin' it."

Bernard nodded his head, pulling the car down the drive and out onto the main road.

"And this nonsense about Benji changin' his name! Poor child. Between the fool way they both actin', don't blame him a bit for not wantin' to be a Daniels_ or_...you know, whatever the hell it is she used ta be."

Her husband kept nodding his head, resolved to be the pair of ears she might use as a punching bag in lieu of Dave or Jemima.

"Anyways, they both need to get their asses to church once in a while," she said with a kind of finality that offered him a little relief. "Sometimes I feel like we the only ones still know what it means to be a good, leadin' husband and a submissive wife."

Bernard choked back a snort.


	3. daniels

**_Disclaimer. _**_The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios. The title is taken from the song "Someone Like You" by Adele, because screw finding another Johnny Cash song, I guess (I actually love Johnny Cash. Let's not start a war over that). The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from the song "Hound Dog" by Elvis Presley. The ranch and setting take a heavy cue from the film _Giant_. As far as I know, Blackbird, Texas is a town of my own invention. _

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**SOMEONE LIKE YOU**

* * *

they said you was high class  
but that was just a lie.  
yeah, they said you was high class  
but that was just a lie.  
you ain't never caught a rabbit  
and you ain't no friend 'a mine.

**daniels.**

_The Daniels' Ranch: Blackbird, Texas, 1941_

Dave Daniels didn't get the same thrill he assumed men like Beni Gabor experienced at being with someone else's wife. He didn't get a kick out of knowing that Cara Lee was going back to a husband who couldn't satisfy her, because he didn't want her going back to him at all. Maybe..._maybe_ if he didn't care about her so deeply, a part of him would like having Cara Lee when he wasn't supposed to. But Dave didn't see their relationship that way. He had loved Cara Lee long before she ever hitched up with Mr. Eli Carver. And as far as Dave was concerned, _Mr. Carver_ was the one sneaking around where he didn't belong - not the other way around.

Cara Lee was married to a big shot Houston lawyer named Eli Carver - of Carver & Carver, a firm he ran with his brother Joel. Dave only knew her husband's name was Eli because he had looked into it. She only ever referred to him as Mr. Carver, to the point where Dave at times wondered if that's what she called him in bed. The thought of Cara Lee in bed with someone else, though - even her own husband - usually made him so red with anger that he didn't labor much thought over what she called him. Cara Lee swore Mr. Carver hadn't touched her in months, and Dave had no choice but to believe her and forcibly quell his suspicions.

Ever since that whole fiasco with Benjamin's real father in Egypt, Dave had developed something of a paranoid nature. He reckoned he was entitled to it.

The sun was hot as he pulled his car into the drive in front of his home at last. Not as hot as Houston, but plenty hot for December, even if they_ were_ in Texas. He inched the gear into park and sat there for a moment, staring up at his house dismally. He was never much in the mood for Jemima after spending a few days with Cara Lee, and he pretended for a second that he might turn the car around and head due south again. His hands flexed on the steering wheel, and he let out a sigh.

He couldn't go back to Houston. Not right now.

Taking a deep breath, he flung open the door and heaved himself out of the low-riding Cadillac. The walk up the porch steps and to his front door didn't last nearly long enough, but he straightened his shoulders and strode into the parlor. He was a man, damn it. And it was his house. He supposed he'd boot her out soon enough -

"Oh! You're back."

"Yep," he said.

His wife was lounging there on the couch, a dying cigarette dangling between her fingers, probably contemplating an afternoon nap. But when he came in, she sat up, and her eyes suddenly became much more alert.

"How was your trip?" she asked cheerily, in a strained effort not to sound pointed.

He crossed briskly over to the bar and started fixing himself a drink. "Fine. Always fine."

He heard her sigh, but he didn't turn around.

He didn't really like looking at her anymore. She was an attractive woman - vivacious and charming if not beautiful (though he'd usually admit, begrudgingly, that she _was_ beautiful, too) - and age still refused to touch her. She was wearing a frock in a bright shade of cherry red, a little too heavy for her complexion, that she'd cinched tight with a matching belt, and stockings with the dark seam up the back like he liked. But he didn't care about her stockings or her frock or her narrow little waist. He wasn't impressed by the slender body she'd effortlessly slipped back into after each child; not anymore. All of her was stained with Beni Gabor's fingerprints, and Dave didn't have any use for a woman who'd let someone like that lay a finger on her.

Some high-falutin', British noble wife_ he_ had. Dave was reasonably sure he could find prostitutes too good to take Beni Gabor's money, but Jemima was more than willing to let him touch her, for no reason at all. Even after she was already married to Dave.

He scoffed to himself as he poured a glass of whiskey. Jem probably thought the topic made him too mad to think much about, but he had her figured out alright. She'd married him for his money. She'd married Oliver Willoughby for his money. But Beni was nothing but a married sleazebag with a grating accent and a penchant for torture. She'd gotten into bed with Dave and Oliver out of desperation - financial and otherwise - but she had no such excuses for sleeping with Beni. No, the only reason she'd been with that Hungarian lowlife was because she _wanted_ to be. And Dave, for one, found that revolting.

He stared into the amber depths of his glass and shook his head. He might have bought that she believed letting him screw her was the best way to repay him for finding those bombers. He _might_ have bought that, even though she'd inherited more money than God at Oliver's death. But even if she_ had_ thought money was too cold a recompense, that was still a one-time deal at best. There was no reason why Beni's hand in finding Oliver's killers entitled him to months between her legs. She must have liked him.

Well, of course she did. She named Benji after him. Any idiot could see that.

"Are you home for...a while?" her voice broke through his haze of bitter thoughts. He grunted, and didn't quite look over his shoulder as he took his first sip of whiskey.

"I guess," he said tersely.

She shifted her weight in her seat, and smiled a little. "That's good. We'll be glad to have you home for a spell."

Dave let out an impatient sigh and stared out the window.

Benjamin could see he was named after the bastard. That's why he wanted to change his name. _Don't you wanna be a Daniels?_ Naomi had asked, a kind of tense desperation in her voice. Benji had kicked at the floor and told his shoes, _Don't matter if I wanna be one or not. I ain't a Daniels._ Dave could understand that. He'd thought Benjamin was his own since before he was born, and he'd raised him and taught him the sort of things a father teaches his son, but he could understand that. He didn't expect Benji to pretend to be something he wasn't.

Come to think of it, Dave was sick of pretending to be something he wasn't, too.

He glanced over at Jemima and told her, "We're gettin' a divorce."

He didn't watch her reaction, but he heard both of her heeled feet connect with the floor. He could very well imagine the way she was sitting there, ramrod straight, with her snotty, half-lidded expression. He kept staring out the window and took another sip of whiskey.

"So that's it then," she said bitterly. "You'll not even_ try_ to make this work between us."

Dave scoffed. "I tried."

"Oh, you can save that bloody rot!" she threw back. He heard her stand up. "You've been in Houston every few weeks for months now - "

He turned around and glared at her. "I_ told_ you I was gonna do that."

Jemima sucked in a breath and crossed her arms over her chest. _"You_ said we owed it to Betsy. Is this _really_ your best effort on her behalf? This is all the better you'll do for her?"

Dave raised his eyebrows. "I find you disgusting. I tried to get past it, but I'm done tryin'. I_ assume_ when Betsy gets the chance to make Mr. Gabor's acquaintance, she'll understand where I'm comin' from."

Jemima's eyes narrowed. "Why on earth would Betsy ever meet Beni?"

"Oh, like you won't go crawlin' back to him once I kick you outta here."

Jemima sniffed. "You'll throw me out, will you?"

He met her glare evenly. "Yep."

"The mother of your children."

Dave scoffed. "Actually, you might remember we only got the one kid together. It's alright. I can let it go since you been lyin' about it so long it's pro'lly just a habit."

Jemima's hands flexed in and out of fists. "You know, a _gentleman_ moves out when he's running away with another woman."

He stared back at her, and couldn't help the sarcastic smile that found its way into the corner of his mouth. "Ain't that just like you, worryin' over who gets the house."

Her mouth gaped. "What is_ that_ supposed to mean?"

"You know damn well what I mean," he told her bluntly. "You never been nothin' but a gold-digger."

She raised her eyebrows incredulously. "Really, David? For eighteen years, all I've done is leech money from you?"

"Hell, that's almost cute," Dave snorted, making a gesture around the vast parlor that she'd meticulously redecorated. "Tell you one thing, wouldn't gone on so many goddamn vacations if I'd married Cara Lee 'stead 'a you."

"Oh, Cara Lee!" Jemima shouted.

He nodded emphatically. "Yeah, Cara Lee."

"I'm so bloody tired of hearing about that woman! You know you never even mentioned her until after that silly dance a year ago. Now she's all you talk about!"

Dave's mouth twisted with a sneer, and he pointed an accusatory finger at her. "You know what? I think you're just jealous 'a her - "

"Of course I'm jealous!" Jemima threw back. "She's shagging my husband every blasted month!"

"You're jealous 'cause she's a real American beauty, like that there Scarlett O'Hara."

Jemima's eyes narrowed. He knew that would get her.

"Vivien Leigh's British, you nitwit," she huffed. "And anyway, Cara Lee doesn't_ really_ look like her. I'm so tired of hearing everyone talk about how much she looks like Vivien Leigh."

"You're just tired 'a playin' second fiddle."

Jemima raised her eyebrows. "Well I believe I'm entitled to such feelings concerning my own husband."

Dave breathed a short sigh. He looked into her mismatched eyes, and really tried not to sound cruel. She _was_ still Betsy's mother, after all.

"I can't abide you," he told her quietly. "I can't look at you without seein' that slimy little bastard. And I don't want to see you no more."

Her expression and posture and entire countenance changed with his new tone of voice and grave words. Her arms fell to her side and she stared up at him in wordless, pathetic desperation. She blinked rapidly at the tears that threatened to stream down her face, and her lips trembled for some plea that she couldn't quite form. They stared at one another in the still and the quiet of the afternoon for what felt like much too long.

"You can have the house for a month or two, but you best be findin' yourself a new place to stay," he said.

She glanced down, sucking back a breath.

"Alright," she whispered. "Alright."

She stared down at the floor for a moment longer before suddenly crossing the room over to him. He stared at her, uncomfortable and surprised, but she brushed past him and dug around in the bar for something strong to drink. He watched her pour herself a drink with a half-hearted interest. He didn't feel particularly sorry for her, but just the same, he didn't like seeing her hands shake.

"There's some, uh, checks to be written in the office drawer," she said distractedly, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a long, slow gulp.

Dave raised his eyebrows, and nodded. "Okay."

Jemima swallowed hard, and ran her tongue over her lips. "You'll date them for tomorrow. The deposit won't go in until Monday - "

"Sure," he said, staring into his glass thoughtfully. He let out a sigh. "What's tomorrow, again?"

She cleared her throat, and jerked a little shrug. "The, uh, the seventh. Tomorrow's December 7th."


	4. benjamin

**_A Historical Note._**_ I know this is going to be super-shocking, but I took some liberties with history. The draft age in the United States WAS lowered to 18 in 1942, but not until November. This chapter, regrettably, takes place in February. For the purposes of the story, it seemed better to screw with historical accuracy than to jump the plot ahead virtually a year. _

**_Disclaimer. _**_The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios. The title is taken from the song "Someone Like You" by Adele, because screw finding another Johnny Cash song, I guess (I actually love Johnny Cash. Let's not start a war over that). The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from the song "Like a Rolling Stone" by Bob Dylan. The ranch and setting take a heavy cue from the film _Giant_. As far as I know, Blackbird, Texas is a town of my own invention. _

* * *

**SOMEONE LIKE YOU**

* * *

you used to ride on your chrome horse with your diplomat  
who carried on his shoulder a siamese cat.  
ain't it hard when you discovered that  
he really wasn't where it's at  
after he took from you everything he could steal?

**benjamin.**

_Alexandria, Egypt, 1942_

There's going to be a draft.

That's what everyone had said. The day after the attack on Pearl Harbor, everyone was talking war and retribution and _sendin' all them Jap bastards to hell_. Benjamin hadn't paid much attention to it. Hawaii was another world away, and anyway, the war would probably be over by the time he turned twenty-one and qualified for conscription.

_Then_ everyone started talking about lowering the draft age. And in what could only qualify as a very malicious joke, the Emperor of Japan and FDR went in together on what was undoubtedly the worst eighteenth birthday present in history.

While Lionel had volunteered a year ago to join the war front in Europe, Benjamin didn't have any interest in being a soldier. And he spent his days agonizing over the draft card that was certainly in the mail for him any day now. _Darling, you'll not get drafted until you're out of school_, his mother had told him. _And if you go on to college, like we've discussed, you'll not have to worry over it at all_. And he'd swallowed nervously and tried not to let on that he'd dropped out of high school over a month ago. He hadn't really _meant_ to. It started when he got very sick and had to miss about a week of classes. Going back was such a bore, and so he started finding ways to skip out. At first he just skipped the classes he hated. What use was gym, anyway? It wasn't like he was going to be offered any football scholarships any time soon. Then Mrs. Longmont started hassling him about some Shakespeare paper he'd forgotten to write when he was sick, and he found it easier to avoid her class altogether than to try and decipher what King Lear's tragic flaw was.

Still, he kept going to the classes he liked. He'd always been very good at math, probably thanks to card-playing. It really wasn't until Mrs. Longmont confronted him in the hallway and told him that at this rate, he'd have to retake his senior year altogether that he decided he'd just drop out. He hadn't expected the war and a stupid draft to become an issue.

_Thanks a lot, Japan._

He didn't want his mother to know he'd dropped out of school, even though he supposed the truth would have to come out sooner or later. He'd just hoped it would happen a little closer to May, when she'd be trying to plan his graduation party. But then the draft card came, which by some stroke of luck (or more likely, bureaucratic ineptitude) had been made out for Benjamin Daniels. And Benji, figuring he didn't have any use of such things anymore, had thrown away his original birth certificate and everything else identifying him as Benjamin Daniels, so he had no proof that had ever been his name at all. _They'll correct their mistake,_ his mother had sighed. _In the meantime, let's get you back in school before one comes for Benjamin Gabor._

But Benji wasn't interested in going back to school. Not when he'd have to do his senior year all over again.

That's why, after a stream of nervous contemplation, he'd traded in his new gold Rolex for a ticket to Egypt. That's why he'd hurriedly boarded a train in the middle of the night, and begun an arduous journey to the other end of the world, through ports that were quickly closing shut behind him. He held his breath until his foot connected with the hot desert sand, exhausted from nights worrying over German U-boats and some kind of modern-day _Lusitania_ waiting to happen. He landed in Alexandria at last, and used the end of his money to take a cab to a certain neighborhood, and a certain yellow house.

Because even though his father wasn't the most pleasant fellow, and Benjamin couldn't say he knew him too well, in his frantic mind he couldn't come up with anyone else he had in the world.

A chill had come on and the evening was surprisingly dark when he knocked on the door. He stood there shivering in a thin suit because he figured he wouldn't need his heavy ones in Egypt, even if it _was_ February. His father's sister looked him over suspiciously, glancing over his shoulder in search of his mother or Dave, probably. But she let him in and led him to the parlor where his father was sitting.

"What are you doing here?" he asked instead of saying hello.

Benjamin stood in the middle of the room and told him all about dropping out of school and the incorrect draft card in a nervous rush, shifting his weight all the time apprehensively. His father had frowned up at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes, and for the first time it occurred to Benjamin that his father might send him away.

But when he finished, Beni only nodded, and shrugged.

"You are smart," he said with a knowing grimace. "War is hell."

Benjamin let out a little shaking sigh of relief, because in his memory, his father was the first person who even remotely sympathized with his frightened determination to avoid service. _What are ya, yellow, Benji? _the other boys at school had taunted. It seemed like everyone else was eager to get in on the action, to fight like men and come out war heroes. Even Dave had ribbed Benjamin about his fear of war; _Ah, now, you know you could always stay off the field and torture folks instead. I hear it runs in the family. _Benjamin hadn't wanted to torture anybody. He just wanted to live in peace and be left alone. He didn't see why that made him a coward, but everyone insisted on telling him that he was. After a while of his fretting, even his mother had given him an eye and said, _You know, darling, most men have to serve their countries at some point._

But his father wasn't trying to guilt him with that kind of talk. He just sat there, understanding his actions if not sympathizing with them, and let out a sigh.

"You can stay here," he told him, more begrudgingly than Benjamin would have liked. "But you will have to find some way to bring in money. I cannot support you."

Despite the fact that he had just experienced what was, to date, the most generous moment of Beni Gabor's life, Benjamin had groaned.

"But I never worked in my life."

Beni raised his eyebrows. "I did not say you had to work. I said you will have to bring in money."

That was how Benjamin started dogging around the various seedy bars of Alexandria's underbelly, playing poker and blackjack with anyone who'd let him in their game. He'd learned to be quick and suspicious from playing with the Texan men who'd always sought to cheat him, and most of the time he got away with counting cards because he kept his winnings humble. But every now and then he'd get sloppy or arrogant or a little drunk, and he'd return to his father's house in the gray hours of morning with black eyes or bruises. He was already thin, but he grew thinner from staying out late at night and not sleeping enough to make up for it in the day. That was when people started to look at him peculiarly.

_You remind me of someone,_ people would tell him with a kind of disdain. They didn't know why they didn't like man Benji's image conjured up, but he'd quickly learned that - if they should ask the inevitable follow-up question, _Who are your parents?_ - he should say Dave and Jemima Daniels instead of claiming Beni Gabor. The few times he'd told the truth, he'd been kicked out of bars or refused a place at the poker table. Everyone in Alexandria hated his father, or at least some memory of his father, and while Benjamin was curious as to why, he intentionally kept himself from finding out. His father had taken him in, after all, and he certainly couldn't go anywhere else, even if he _did_ discover something about him that was too despicable to abide. And even if he _had_ had any other place to go, Benji liked Alexandria. He liked the heat and the color and the commotion. He liked his aunt's goulash and even liked his father, in a way. Even though he was usually in a foul mood and complained about everything, he was funny and had all kind of crass and amusing stories. He seemed to get a kick out of telling Benji something principally because it would upset Jemima if she knew he was telling it.

Benji didn't even notice that he was single-handedly paying for the house and everything in it. Money had always been such an amorphous concept to him; everything he could ever want was given to him from the moment he was born. He'd only ever played cards because he liked it and he was good at it, not because he could use some extra money. Beni was aghast when Benjamin told him he really didn't know how much Mr. Daniels was worth, and if he was still in line to inherit it. Benji had always just assumed the matter would handle itself. There had always been money and he had no reason to think it should run out for him. The closest he'd come to poverty before moving to Alexandria was reading a Horatio Algers novel or two, and those always turned out alright in the end.

He'd noticed when his father had replaced the sofa, but only because the chintz was so ugly and loud that it couldn't be ignored. It squawked for attention like a parrot, and Benji had told him as much.

"Well it was expensive," Beni retorted. "So pretend to like it."

This was the way things went for Benjamin, for several months. Gradually the house was transformed into a poor man's gaudy interpretation of wealth. It got to the point where he looked forward to his nights in drab bars just to escape it. And it was at a certain drab bar, on a non-descript night in September, that Benji found himself taking a break from the tables to get a drink.

"I say," someone sitting next to him exclaimed in a voice strained against sounding too drunk. "You look a tad familiar, chap."

Benjamin sighed, and turned to look right into the face of string-bean Englishman, somewhere around fifty. The man's face faded from vaguely interested to a kind of haunted expression, and he stared at Benji for much too long with his mouth hanging open in shock.

Benjamin cleared his throat and took a nervous sip of the bourbon that had finally arrived, and started to head back to the poker table. But the man reached over and caught him by the elbow.

"Wh-who are your parents?" he asked quietly.

Benjamin gulped, trying to shrug free of his grasp. "Dave and Jemima Daniels - "

"Jemima!" he gasped, his hand tightening on Benjamin's arm. "Great Scott, you're Jemima Willoughby's boy, aren't you?"

Benjamin twitched, casting a desperate glance back towards the poker table before reluctantly nodding his head.

"Evy said you looked just like him, but I suppose I wasn't prepared for just how much so."

Benjamin didn't know how to respond to that; he didn't even know who this Evy person was, so he just stood there quietly, hoping this stranger would let go of him soon.

The man suddenly grimaced, wide-eyed and regretful. "Bugger, you _do_ know who your father is, don't you?"

Benjamin nodded. The man let out a sigh. "Good, good. I'd hate to be the one to have mucked _that_ all up..." He frowned at Benji thoughtfully. "I suppose you know all about him...How is the old bastard, anyway?" His eyes bugged, and he tried to choke back his words, "I mean, if he's still alive, that is - he_ is_ still alive, isn't he?"

"How did you know my father?" Benjamin asked suspiciously. The man's grasp on his arm loosened, but now he was too curious about this fellow to return to his poker game.

The man sighed. "I suppose we were family for a spell. He was married to my sister, Evy." His brow furrowed, and he studied Benjamin for a moment. "I suppose that makes me your uncle of sorts."

Actually, it didn't, but it led the man to at last introduce himself as Jonathan Carnahan and offer to buy Benji a drink.

"You're of age, aren't you, chap? I don't really know what the age is these days..."

Benji ordered a scotch whose price tag would have made his father proud, and sat down with Jonathan Carnahan at the bar. He was fascinated by this relic of his father's past; a part of his past he was mysteriously mum on. Beni had so little to say about the time after Jemima married Mr. Daniels that Benjamin often forgot that his father had been married at all.

"What'd you say your name was? Beni?"

"Benji."

By the end of Jonathan's second drink, he was calling him Beni with impunity, and Benjamin gave up on correcting him.

"Evy never should have married the blighter," he slurred. "It was a poor match from the start. I daresay it was a year for poor matches. There was your mother marrying that damn Yank, and then Delphine and Ardeth - "

Benjamin frowned curiously. "Who?"

By the end of Jonathan's fourth drink, he thought Benjamin _was_ Beni.

"You _knew_ I was in love with her, you dirty little blackguard!" Jonathan shouted just a little too loudly. Benjamin cast a nervous glance behind the bar, and tried to take comfort in the way the barkeep's hand flexed around a bat. "You _knew_ it! And you still convinced him to kill her! I don't know what you're doing out of prison, but I've half a mind to drag you right on back!"

Jonathan started to pull himself off of the barstool, but his feet faltered beneath him and he had to catch himself on the bar. He took a firm hold on Benji's suit coat. He told him fiercely:

"Whatever those rebels do to you is better than you deserve! You ought to've hung by your skinny little neck!"

He made a drunken lunge for Benjamin, but he quickly darted out of the way. "Jonathan, I ain't who you think - "

"And I'll tell you another thing. The next time you try to lay a hand on my sister, it'll be me with the gun, and I got a bloody better aim than she has!"

Benjamin gulped and hurried away before Jonathan could make good on any of his threats, a sick and sinking kind of dread taking hold of him as he jogged out into the night. He knew nothing good could come from hearing why everyone hated his father so much. But now he was left with more questions about his father than ever.


	5. betsy

**_Author's Note._**_ It's been too long, mostly because I've been pretty heavily debating which character to do next. The two I had in mind (Beni and Betsy) could really happen interchangeably. But I went with Betsy since last chapter was in Egypt._

**_Disclaimer. _**_The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios. The title is taken from the song "Someone Like You" by Adele, because screw finding another Johnny Cash song, I guess (I actually love Johnny Cash. Let's not start a war over that). The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from the song "Stuck in the Middle with You" by Stealers Wheel. The ranch and setting take a heavy cue from the film _Giant_. As far as I know, Blackbird, Texas is a town of my own invention. _

* * *

**SOMEONE LIKE YOU**

* * *

try to make some sense of it all  
but i can see it makes no sense at all  
is it cool to fall asleep on the floor?  
'cause i don't think that i can take any more.

**betsy.**

_Dupree's Dress Shop: Blackbird, Texas: 1942_

"That looks plum divine on you, Betsy Fay."

Betsy glanced at her aunt through the mirror, a slight frown on her face. Her hands smoothed over the navy blue taffeta thoughtfully. It_ was_ a lovely dress and it certainly flattered her figure; she imagined it would drive the boys wild at Homecoming, but she just wasn't in the mood for anything happy or frivolous. At that moment, all she could think about were her fool parents, and how she just couldn't decide which of them she was madder at.

"What's the matter, honey?"

Betsy sighed and glanced at her aunt again. "Naomi, ain't a thing in this world to put me in a good mood right now."

Naomi raised her eyebrows. "Well, honey, if wearin' that dress lookin' like a full-grown woman don't get you at sixteen, I don't know what'll do it."

Betsy turned around and looked at her. "I could kill 'em, Naomi. You know I could."

"Honey, I know. Don't I know."

"I mean, pardon my French, but they're actin' like jackasses, the both of 'em."

Naomi didn't scold her for swearing, and Betsy hadn't figured she would. She and Naomi were cut from the same cloth, and Betsy had always liked her aunt. She'd always gotten along with her and identified with her.

She used to get along with her father, too, but that was before he started bringing that Cara Lee Carver woman around the house. Betsy understood why he was mad at her mother, and she'd more or less taken his side on the matter. Her relationship with her mother hadn't conjured up any sympathy, either. Of course Betsy loved her mother. Of course she did. But the woman was a fake, and Betsy had always seen it. She remembered going to the hair salon with her when she was just a little girl, and hearing her tell the beautician, _Now, I want it light, but not too light. There isn't any point to being a blonde if people suspect you got it from a bottle._ The woman was a natural-born liar. So Betsy, already knowing her mother was a phony, and being at an age ripe for rebellion against her mother to begin with, hadn't wasted a minute feeling sorry for her when the truth came out about Benjamin's real father. She hadn't wasted a minute on that woman.

But then her father started bringing Cara Lee around. And Betsy lost all sympathy for her father, too. Because even if her mother had done a fool, snake-in-the-grass thing like lying over Benjamin, her father had no damn business bringing some other woman around to take her place. Cara Lee was alright, but Betsy hated her just the same. She wasn't her mother and she didn't have any business hanging around the house. And Betsy had _no_ interest in entertaining her daughters, either.

Mostly, Betsy was just tired of both of her parents acting like she didn't matter.

Because that's all it was. She and her father had always gotten along pretty well, but now he was bringing some new woman into the house and acting like she should buddy up to her daughters. _It doesn't matter that she ain't your mother, right? I like her better, so you will, too,_ he seemed to say, bringing that woman and her girls around like it shouldn't bother anybody. _Haven't you always wanted sisters, Bets? _As a matter of fact,_ no_. She was perfectly happy with her two brothers (even if it turned out they were both only half-brothers), and she wasn't interested in pretending to be family with anybody else. Really, why did she have to be friendly with them? Just because her father was screwing their mother?

Being around her mother was even worse. The woman had holed up at a luxurious hotel and spent her days smoking cigarettes, asking a stream of paranoid questions about Cara Lee. At first Betsy hadn't minded the opportunity to vent about her father's girlfriend, but the satisfaction had worn thin. Her mother seemed so pathetic, usually all dolled up with nowhere to go, obsessing over her husband's mistress. And when she wasn't drilling Betsy for information about Cara Lee, she was on the verge of tears over Benji.

Goddamn_ Benji._

Betsy loved her brother. She loved both of them. But if she had to listen to her mother sob over Benji one more time, she was going to lose it. Well, actually, she _had_ lost it once, but she felt so bad over it she apologized immediately. _Would you stop cryin' over him already? Wherever he is, he's safe as can be! It's Lionel you should be cryin' over. He's actually in the goddamn war! _That had only made it worse, of course. But Jesus, her mother's whole thing with Benjamin was every kind of aggravating.

Betsy had always known her mother loved Benji the most. She never would have admitted such a thing, but it was obvious. Oh, she'd pretend like Lionel was the one she made a fuss over, since he was handsome and his father was dead and everything, but that was just for show. And she'd tell everyone how Betsy was her only girl, and her baby, and all of that kind of shit - but only when someone was around to hear it, because her mother knew as well as Betsy that the two of them just couldn't get along. No, it was_ all_ about Benjamin, and it always had been. Poor, weak, homely little Benjamin. Betsy had always assumed it was just because Benjamin was such a whiny little shrimp, her mothering heart couldn't help itself.

Apparently it was because Benjamin's father was the only man she'd screwed for something other than money.

Betsy sighed, glancing at her reflection in the mirror again. She wished this school year was over already. She'd go on to college and get away from her whole crazy family. The only ones of them worth a damn were Naomi and Lionel, and Lionel was all the way in Germany.

"Ma's goin' to Egypt," she said suddenly.

She didn't know why she said it. She wasn't supposed to say anything about it, but hell. She didn't owe her mother anything.

Naomi's jaw dropped, and she stared back at Betsy in surprise.

"She's what?"

Betsy swallowed uneasily, but didn't look away. "She's goin' to Egypt."

"Whatever for?"

Betsy met her eyes with an obvious look, and Naomi raised her eyebrows.

"That's where he is, huh?"

Betsy sighed, "With his dad, I reckon."

Naomi sat up in interest. "How'd she find 'im?"

Betsy shrugged. "I guess Aunt Tamsin sent her a telegram or somethin'. Said she seen him in the marketplace or somewhere?"

Naomi stared at Betsy, and she stared back, not entirely sure what thoughts were crossing through her aunt's mind. After a moment, Naomi shook her head and offered her a sad little smile.

"Lemme get that dress for you, Bets."

Betsy waved off her words. "Nah, Dad sent me with some money - "

"Betsy," Naomi said, more firmly this time. "I want to get it for you. Lemme get it."

Betsy frowned in confusion, but nodded her head. She slipped back into the dressing room and changed out of the dress. As she hung it up on the hanger, she caught a glimpse of herself out of the corner of her eye in the mirror, and startled. She turned and faced herself, but it was gone.

For a second - for only a second - she saw her mother, in her own body and face. Betsy didn't look like her mother and never had, though her father used to joke that she could pull an awfully devilish smile just like her. She supposed she couldn't help but sometimes do things the same way as the woman. But that was the first time she'd ever thought she looked even a tad like her in appearance.

She thought of Benji suddenly, and wondered what he was doing out there in Egypt, avoiding the draft. He could likely never come back to Texas; how would he ever live down the shame? It was bad enough he'd changed his name and told the whole world that he was someone else's bastard son. But now he was a draft dodger, too, and nobody could abide that kind of coward. Not in Blackbird, Texas. She found herself wondering if she'd ever see him again.

And then she thought of him, maybe being just as she was now, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. She thought about how he'd never looked like anybody, except some uncle of their mother's she conveniently never had a photograph of. She wondered how many times he'd stared at himself in the mirror wondering where on earth he'd come from. Wondering who was to blame for the fact he was nothing but a bony little weasel. He must have wondered. Their mother was a striking woman, and the man he thought was his father had broad shoulders and strong arms. He must have wondered.

Was it better out there in the desert? Was it better being with somebody who'd grown up in the same unfortunate body?

Betsy couldn't figure what that was like, always wondering.

She got dressed and stepped out again, carrying the dress with her. And Naomi bought her the dress like she said, twittering for a while in front of the sales clerk about how she'd look like a princess at the Homecoming. But when they stepped back out into the sunlight, she quieted down. They walked in silence back to the car, and Betsy laid the dress carefully in the backseat before getting in the front with her aunt.

"Don't be too hard on 'em, Bets," Naomi said all of the sudden, just after she'd finished tying her scarf over her hair.

"On who?"

Naomi sighed and pushed a pair of cat-eyed sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. "On any of 'em. Some folks you'd just like to shake, but what're they to do now?"

Betsy crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the dashboard. "Well there's got to be a better way than this. Her runnin' off to Egypt and him bringin' that damn woman and her kids around all the time..."

"Tell you what they are," Naomi said, letting out a short, humorless chuckle. "They all tied up in what you call an Eye-talian Rope Trick."

Betsy raised her eyebrows.

"You know what that is? An Eye-talian Rope Trick?"

"Not at all."

Naomi let out a sigh, pulling the car out of the parking lot and out into the street. "Light me up a cigarette."

Betsy grabbed her bag obediently and found Naomi's cigarette carton and lighter.

"Thanks, honey. Now you don't remember this, 'cause you was just a baby, but back in the day folks 'round here used to make moonshine and run it for them Eye-talian gangsters. You know, 'cause 'a Prohibition? Well sometimes, folks thought they was smarter than these crooks, and they'd find themselves in a mess 'a trouble, and die all kinds 'a horrible ways. Stuff to give you nightmares. But they got this one way to kill a fella, they tie him up 'round his neck and his ankles, and fix it with nooses some way? And, see, more you struggle - more you fight, tighter the noose gets. Fight your way right into a hangin'."

Betsy winced. "Yikes."

Naomi nodded, blowing a trail of smoke out her open window. "They can't make it better, Bets. They can only make it worse."


	6. jemima

**_Disclaimer. _**_The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios. The title is taken from the song "Someone Like You" by Adele, because screw finding another Johnny Cash song, I guess (I actually love Johnny Cash. Let's not start a war over that). The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from the song "Somebody that I Used to Know" by Gotye. The ranch and setting take a heavy cue from the film _Giant_. As far as I know, Blackbird, Texas is a town of my own invention._

* * *

**SOMEONE LIKE YOU**

* * *

i don't want to live that way  
hanging on to every word you say  
you said that you would let it go  
and I wouldn't catch you caught up on somebody that you used to know

but you didn't have to cut me off  
make out like it never happened and that we were nothing  
i don't even need your love  
but you treat me like a stranger and that feels so wrong.

**jemima**.

_The Cook Residence: Alexandria, Egypt 1942_

"Now, darling, brace yourself. He doesn't look very good."

Jemima let out an impatient sigh and gave her sister a look. "So you keep telling me."

"I almost didn't recognize him," Tamsin said, nervous and distracted. She'd been telling Jemima this same flustered story since she'd arrived, and she was starting to get suspicious. "I should have figured it our much sooner, but I suppose I'd assumed Mr. Gabor had hired a boy to do the yard or help with something in the house. You know, something of that nature. It's only his sister there to help him, and there are some things a woman our age can't do. Or shouldn't do, anyway, like help him in and out of the bath. Do you suppose he's gotten worse?"

Jemima took a deliberate pull off of her cigarette and stared up at her sister gravely. "I'm not here about him and I don't want to discuss him."

Tamsin glanced away from her and fiddled with the silverware on the table, adjusting their position and spacing, and then moving them back again.

"It's not to say Benji looks _bad,"_ she said, going on as if she'd never brought up Beni Gabor at all. "Just - he's just - "

She was cut off by the sound of the doorbell, and she sucked in a gasp, turning to look at her sister with wide eyes. Jemima took a breath and started for the door.

"Now, darling, he doesn't know you're here - " Tamsin was saying, but Jemima didn't pay her any mind. She unlocked the door and opened it, and there was her son.

There was her son, her beloved and shifty little Benji, staring back at her in shock with his mouth hanging open. He stood there, his feet frozen but his hands twitching, unable to glance away from her or even blink. Jemima wanted to be angrier with him than she was. Because _God_, she'd be angry with him. So, so angry with that slight, desperate little boy.

Oh, he wasn't a little boy any longer. She knew that. But he was still so very...so very little to her. Thin and nervous and scared, the way he always had been. _Ooh,_ how she'd wanted to shake him for dropping out of high school. _Don't you know? Don't you have any idea what you've done? So what if you have to retake your senior year? It's worth avoiding the lifetime of trouble that comes without a diploma, you nitwit. _She'd been so angry with him. And then he'd left town - just up and left one night without a note or a goodbye, and she'd worried away her nights over that boy. _He's dead in a gutter somewhere. I know he is. Without David there to save him, someone's sure to slit his throat and leave him for dead... _For months she'd agonized over him. It had been unbearable enough, David drawing up the divorce papers and making her leave the house. It had been unbearable enough with Lionel off in Germany somewhere, maybe in a Nazi prison camp. Maybe dead... It had been bad enough. The world had fallen to pieces all around her, and she'd had nothing but cigarettes in a hotel room.

It had been bad enough; but then her son - her sweet and timid boy - the child she already worried and fretted over, because Lionel was strong and Betsy was tough, and neither of them needed her the way Benji did - then her Benji up and left, and all she could do was fear for him. And, _oh,_ how angry she'd been with that boy. How very, very angry. Why would he abandon her now, of all times? Why would he leave her when everyone and everything had left all at once? David had left her and Lionel and left her and everyone in Blackbird disapproved. Naomi was telling people the cruelest things, and after all those years! All of those years as friends, she'd say such things to people! There wasn't anyone at all for Jemima now.

So she'd sat in her hotel room alone, smoking cigarettes, worrying over Benji.

No one at all understood her, not even her own daughter. Perhaps least of all her own daughter, who'd always loved her father best, anyway. As far as Betsy was concerned, it was all Jemima's fault that her family was shattered. It was all Jemima's fault, even though David was the one bringing _that woman_ and her children around. There was no one on Jemima's side and there never would be, now that she wasn't Mrs. Daniels anymore.

Well. She_ was_ still Mrs. Daniels, technically. But she was teaching herself to sign her name Jemima Willoughby again. She was going to change it back.

Anyway, she was so very alone, which she'd never tolerated well. She liked being with people and having friends, but as it turned out, she didn't have any. No one was interested in taking her side. Not after she'd duped_ poor, pathetic, innocent_ David Daniels.

Good God, those people. They'd had their fair share to say about David over the years, and plenty of it was less than positive. They had plenty to say about him and their family when the Depression was on and he was still a millionaire. There was nothing at all_ poor_ about David Daniels. He was as tough as they came, and while Jemima might have deceived him, she certainly hadn't corrupted an innocent.

It takes two people to make a baby, after all, and the man was more than convinced he was the father. Had they forgotten about that? _Poor, lovestruck_ David Daniels had gotten into her bed without a second thought to Cara Lee.

Jemima hadn't stolen anybody. She hadn't drugged and bound him. He'd gone to her all on his own. If he'd been faithful to the woman he was supposedly going to marry, he wouldn't have been in this situation at all.

Whose fault was that?

But she was the one suffering the blame, made out to be some kind of bewitching Jezebel who'd lured David Daniels into playing the fool. She was some kind of treacherous, scheming devil, and everyone thought so. She had no one at all except Benji, and she'd been so angry with him for leaving her. She'd bathed him and fed him and cared for him; couldn't he_ at least_ have stayed with her when she needed him? When she needed somebody, and there was no one else but him?

But as he stood there before her in a pair of pants that were just a little too big for him and a shirt that needed to be ironed, all of those thoughts melted away. She couldn't be angry, looking into his thin and distressed face, gaping for something to say in his shock at seeing her.

"Benjamin," she said quietly, biting back a sob in her throat. She couldn't help it. She took a step and wrapped her arms around him, ignored the way he flinched in her embrace.

He was her son and she loved him, and he was alive. He was really alive, even out here in Egypt where a person might just get away with killing a boy over a poker game.

"Hi, Ma," he breathed nervously, patting her on the shoulder as she held him tight.

"I've been so worried," she whispered into his ear. "So worried about you."

He sucked in a little breath, and she knew he felt sorry. "I'm okay," he told her.

"I've been so worried."

Benjamin pulled out of her hug awkwardly, staring down at her and shifting his weight where he stood. She stared back at him, and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Why'd you come here?" he asked anxiously.

Jemima blinked, and did her very best not to look disappointed. "Darling, I..."

She didn't have an answer for him. She couldn't tell him the truth: that she had nobody anymore except for him. She was the parent and he was the child, and he _couldn't_ be the one being relied on. She couldn't do that to him.

So she shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile. "I just had to, I suppose."

"I'm fine," he told her again, his voice pinched with desperation. "Things're goin' really good..."

Jemima nodded, numb. "I'm...glad for you..."

"I don't wanna go back," he told her. She looked up at him, and nearly sighed from relief. So that's what it was. It wasn't that he was rejecting her like everyone else; he was just afraid she was here to drag him back to America.

"No, darling, and you don't have to."

Benjamin's whole body relaxed, and he smiled genuinely for the first time since seeing her.

"I-I'm staying with, um..."

"I know."

A part of her wished she hadn't intervened for him. A part of her wondered what he called Beni, after thinking of David as his "dad" for all of these years.

"Oh," he said under his breath, staring down at his shoes. He shifted his weight uncertainly, and told her in a voice barely above a mumble, "I like stayin' with him. I...I wanna keep stayin' with him."

Jemima kept a watchful frown trained on her son, trying to decipher what exactly he was telling her.

"I don't have any plans right now," she said carefully. "But what you mean to say is...if I stay here in Egypt for a spell, you want to keep living with your father."

Benjamin cleared his throat and gave her a little nod.

Jemima sucked in a breath. She didn't know why that little motion of his head hurt her so badly, but it did. It wasn't like he didn't want to see her. It wasn't like he didn't want anything to do with her. He was still her boy, and still more interested in being around her than anybody else was. But bloody hell, it stung just the same, the notion that he could live for less than a year with_ Beni Gabor_ - who was only one of the whiniest, most unpleasant people Jemima had known even before he was confined to a wheelchair - and would rather keep living with him than with her, his mother.

Before she could stop the impulse, she stepped out of the doorway and let the door bang shut behind her. She could feel Benjamin's confused eyes on her face as she strode down the sidewalk, and heard his footsteps coming after her as she passed two homes and came to that blasted yellow house. She walked right inside, not even bothering to knock, and Benjamin scurried in after her. She found Beni in the very place he'd been the last time she saw him, sitting in his wheelchair in the parlor with a cup of coffee. He stared at her in surprise, but she didn't give him the opportunity to say a word.

"I need to speak with you about our son."


	7. dave

**_Author's Note. _**_I already have the next chapter of this written, so it's a two-fer for ya'll. Also, next chapter is pretty long...but I love it, so maybe you will, too?_

**_Disclaimer. _**_The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios. The title is taken from the song "Someone Like You" by Adele, because screw finding another Johnny Cash song, I guess (I actually love Johnny Cash. Let's not start a war over that). The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from the song "Just Give Me a Reason" by Pink and Nate Reuss. The ranch and setting take a heavy cue from the film _Giant_. As far as I know, Blackbird, Texas is a town of my own invention._

* * *

**SOMEONE LIKE YOU**

* * *

just give me a reason  
just a little bit's enough  
just to say that we're not broken, just bent  
and we can learn to love again.

**dave**.

_The Daniels Ranch: Blackbird, Texas 1942_

Cara Lee was crying again.

It was damn early and Dave was tired, but he couldn't just pretend to sleep through it. Well, he_ might_ have been pretending to sleep through it for the first five minutes or so, before his conscious got the best of him. He rolled over on his other side and found her, curled up on her side away from him. He saw her trembling under the sheets in the darkness of the early morning.

This wasn't a new occurrence. He supposed he'd even expected it, after a fashion, at least at first. It was only natural that she feel a little conflicted (misdirected though the notion was), and like all women, she was bound to get bent out of shape over the things folks were saying about her. People in Blackbird knew why she was coming to visit so often all the sudden. They knew, even though for the first few months she stayed with her parents and_ always_ slept there. They knew and they gossiped, and word got around. That was the kind of thing that always happened in Blackbird, but it upset Cara Lee just the same.

So he'd expected her to shed a few tears, there at the beginning. He expected her to be upset for a little while, because folks are bound to say some ugly things about a married woman coming to visit a married man. What he hadn't expected, though, was for the crying to persist. For it to actually get _worse._ How could it get worse? Couldn't she just accept that people talk and move on? This wasn't about other people. This was about them. Him and her and the life they should have had together. The life they might be able to reclaim, at least in a way...

He didn't want to say it as harshly as it always came to mind, but...well, she needed to get over it.

He took a little breath and reached a gentle hand for her shoulder. He asked her in a voice hoarse and gruff from the hour, "What is it, sugar?"

She gasped back a sob, and shook her head.

"Nothing," she lied. "I'm fine." Somehow she forced a smile into her voice, "Go back to bed, baby. It's too early."

Dave let out a sigh and sat up in bed. She couldn't fool him and he didn't see what use there was in trying.

"Cara Lee," he said plaintively, his hand still on her shoulder.

She sucked back another brave little sob and rolled over on her back, finding his gaze in the charcoal darkness of four a.m.

"Honey, I gotta go back to Houston," she said in a voice that sounded terrified.

Dave's brow furrowed up in confusion. He reached a hand to the side of her face and stroked her hair. He brushed the tears off of her cheek with his thumb.

"Now, sugar, what'd you wanna go and do a thing like that for?"

She breathed a sigh, and suddenly she didn't look so much like a scared little girl to him. Suddenly she didn't sound like one, either.

"Dave, this is foolishness, and we got to end it."

He let out an impatient sigh, and she sat up. She met his eyes evenly; she looked weary under his glare.

"What've they been sayin' _this_ time?" he demanded.

Cara Lee frowned. "What?"

Dave scoffed. "It's always somethin'. Always some new thing folks're sayin', and then you're fit to be tied - "

"Nobody's been sayin' anything," she told him defensively. "Least not anything _new..."_

He sighed loudly. "Then what? What's the deal?"

She sucked back a little breath, and he knew he'd been too harsh. But it was four in the morning and he was so tired of her guilty tears, and he just didn't have it in him to apologize. It took an awful lot for him to apologize on a good day, when the blame was squarely on him. She couldn't expect a sorry right now.

Her voice shook when she told him, "I got a, uh...a call. From Mr. Carver."

Dave's eyes widened. _"When?"_

Cara Lee swallowed hard. "Yesterday..."

"And what did 'Mr. Carver' say?" he demanded, unable to keep the bitter suspicion from creeping into his voice.

She looked at him with a kind of scolding eye, the way mothers learn to look at children and put it to use on everyone else. She said, "His mother died."

Dave blinked, rocking back in his seat a little bit. He hadn't expected that, and all he could say was, (after a moment), "Oh."

Cara Lee nodded her head and glanced at her hands. "He..._we both_ think it would be for the best if...if the girls and me was there for the funeral."

Dave swallowed hard. He wanted to tell her that she couldn't go back to Houston and Mr. Carver for any damn funeral, but he knew he couldn't say that. The girls' grandmother had died. They had to be there and naturally, Cara Lee had to be there, too.

"Okay," he said quietly.

She took a deep breath. She told her hands, "And..."

She stopped short, and silence filled the space between and all around them. He raised his eyebrows. _"And?"_

"And I think we should stay a spell afterwards, too," she blurted out in a rush, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

Dave stared at her. The gray darkness of the morning was steadily giving way to a softer kind of darkness; would steadily give way to a bright, hot sun, inching its way up the horizon. For now it was only them in the cool and the gray, neither night nor morning.

"Cara Lee - "

"He wants to work it out," she whispered desperately. "He wants another chance...Says he's got a new perspective, you know, losin' his mom..."

Dave's face hardened. He shook his head in shock. "How can you even entertain that?"

She met his gaze with her wide, helpless eyes. "Dave...we been married fifteen years - "

"So?"

"We got kids together!" she said, hoarse and determined.

He sat up, animated and angry. He glared at her. "Cara Lee, I love you! That man don't love you like I do and you_ know_ it. You _know_ it."

She gulped, and reached a hand up to her face. He could tell she was fighting more tears.

"Don't you love me?" he demanded. "Don't you love me more than him?"

"I do," she whispered, her lips trembling against a sob. She closed her eyes against the tears. "I do love you more and I always have, but honey..." She opened her eyes to him, and she told him unblinking and unflinching, "Honey, I _promised_ him I'd be with him forever."

Dave let out a gruff sigh, scratching his chin irritably. "'Til death do us part.'"

"Yes," she said, tight and frustrated with the bitter way he threw the words at her. "I meant it when I said it. Didn't you?"

"Things change."

Cara Lee sucked in a breath.

"And that woman was nothin' but a dirty liar," he added tersely.

She held her face in her hand, staring dismally at the sheets. "Ain't no difference between her and me..."

Dave's eyes widened. He stared at her, perplexed and startled. "What? Honey, there is a_ world_ 'a difference between you and that sad excuse of a woman - "

She looked up at him with a pained gaze, tears slipping down her face, but her voice steady. "I can't figure the difference. Both of us married women, sleepin' with somebody we used to be with...What's the difference between me here with you and what she did in Egypt when your kids was babies?"

"The difference is we're upfront," he told her sharply. "The difference is this isn't some little 'for-old-time's-sake' bullshit just 'cause we can. I love you and I intend to make this honest."

Cara Lee just kept staring quietly down at the bed, even when his gaze softened and he reached a hand to hers. His fingers laced through her fingers and he held tight to her hand.

"I love you," he told her, deep and true. "I've always loved you. It's only ever been you for me."

She let out a weary sigh, and she pulled her hand from his as slowly and gently as she could.

"If it's only ever been me," she whispered, "how'd she make you think that boy was yours to begin with?"

Dave flinched. He felt a stab of guilt at her words, and he was angry for it. He stared at her, hard and irritable, and she looked up into his eyes fiercely.

"You had me," she said in a voice frustrated from helplessness. "You had me on a silver platter and you took her."

"Cara Lee - "

"And I ain't angry over it," she said, holding up her hands. "I made my peace with it, and I forgiven you. I forgiven you a long time ago. But goddamn it, Dave..."

She shook her head, desperate and hopeless and caged. She stared back at him and fought the tears.

"Life went_ on,"_ she told him. "And I'm married and I got a family and...Dave,_ you had me..."_

He reached a hand to her face, but she turned away.

"You had me," she said again. "But he has me now. I married him, and if he wants another chance, I got to give it to him."

Dave frowned, staring at her in disbelief. "You don't owe him nothin'."

Cara Lee twitched against a glare. "No, honey, I do. I married him and I owe it to him."

He scoffed. "Reckon you think I owe it to_ her,_ just 'cause we're married."

Cara Lee looked back at him sadly. She touched his arm, but he flinched away. He didn't like the way that motion pained her, but he was too frustrated with her to care. She stared at him and shook her head.

"Honey...you can't make me punish my family for what your wife did," she said softly.

Dave let out a disgruntled sigh, glaring at the window and the glow of the sun on the horizon of a new day.

"I wish things was different," she told him, quiet and earnest. "I wish everything had gone differently..."

He turned back to her, his mouth set in a bitter frown. "And it's all my fault, huh? That's what it is?"

She stared back at him, her lips trembling against an expression he couldn't decipher. Her eyes were so very sad.

"We can't go back," she told him. "That's all. There's just no goin' back."


	8. benji

_**Disclaimer. **The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios. The title is taken from the song "Someone Like You" by Adele, because screw finding another Johnny Cash song, I guess (I actually love Johnny Cash. Let's not start a war over that). The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from the song "We Are Young" by FUN. The ranch and setting take a heavy cue from the film _Giant_. As far as I know, Blackbird, Texas is a town of my own invention._

* * *

**SOMEONE LIKE YOU**

* * *

now i know that i'm not  
all that you've got.  
i guess that i,  
i just thought  
maybe we could find new ways to fall apart.

**benji**.

_The Gabor Residence: Alexandria, Egypt 1942_

"And where do you think you're going, young man?"

The muscles stiffened all up Benji's back, and it took a conscious effort not to snap something in response to his mother's condescending tone. He jumped away from the doorknob and turned to stare at her in something between annoyance and confusion before quickly retreating from her glare altogether. He turned to his father helplessly, who waved him off with a dismissive hand.

"Leave him alone, Jemima."

"Well I think I have a right to know where my son is going at this time in the evening."

Beni frowned at her. "He is going out."

"Out_ where?"_

"Just _out,_ Ma," Benji blurted.

His mother turned and stared at him, her mouth hanging open in angry shock. She was ready to quip something back, and probably command him to stay home, but his father intervened, looking at him impatiently.

"Go on, my boy," he said in a saccharine tone obviously meant to annoy her. "He is a grown man, Jemima. He does not owe you an explanation."

Benji didn't wait for his mother to retort. If those two wanted to spend the evening arguing, that was fine with him. As long as he could get out of the house and into the night, into the fresh cool air and dusty streets. He slipped out the front door, only vaguely aware of his mother raising her voice after him, and scurried along down the street. His father's house was situated in a humble but respectable neighborhood, and it took a bit of walking to get to the seedier, gaudier part of town where he could gamble and drink. Benji didn't mind the walk, though. He usually spent all morning sleeping, and when he woke up, he felt caged in the yellow house. He never felt like he had any space to move around all of the ridiculous, bright furniture. So he lounged anxiously, moving from room to room or couch to couch until at last it was late enough to leave.

It wasn't all that bad, he supposed. His aunt was teaching him more and more Hungarian words behind Beni's back. He was starting to understand the things his father and aunt grumbled at each other, which amused him. And his father let him smoke cigarettes and drink and never said a word about it. He didn't mind living there, really. But going out at night was the thing that he liked best.

Anyway, it would always be preferable to living with his mother, who would certainly never allow him to go out on his own like his father did.

He arrived at a certain bar he remembered enjoying the one time he went there before, and slipped inside with a stealth that had always come naturally to him. He scanned the restaurant thoughtfully, picking out a couple tables where people were gathered to play poker, and decided he'd have a drink before going to join one. He always was just a little more confident after a drink. Whiskey made him stand a little straighter and talk a little louder, and the other players were more inclined to trust him.

Benji scurried over to the bar and ordered himself a whiskey.

"Is Jack Daniels okay?"

He blinked at the bartender and shook his head. "You got any Wild Turkey?"

Benji didn't like drinking things that reminded him of the name Daniels. Or being a Daniels. Or the life he used to think was his.

"Oh, don't give him that," a voice near him said all the sudden. Benji frowned, turning in the direction of the young, female voice, startled by its strange but alluring accent.

At some point, she must have slipped up beside him, though Benji couldn't imagine why. Girls had never taken much of an interest in Benji, and their inattention had done little to disrupt his general cowardice towards them. All the girls in Blackbird had been crazy about his brother and ignored him, and he'd accepted that he probably wouldn't be getting any dates for a while. But this girl - who couldn't have been older than sixteen or so - had sidled right up next to him and winked one of her pretty dark eyes in his direction. Her hair was as dark as her eyes, and she'd pinned the sides up in a set of victory rolls that were sagging a little in the heat of the bar.

"Give him the Glenlivet, Raj," she told the barkeep without looking away from Benji. To his surprise, the barkeep did just as she said. He stared at her in confusion, but she just kept a mysterious little smile on her face and said nothing until his scotch was served. "What's your name?"

"Benjamin..." he told her carefully, unable to hide the kind of suspicious frown marking his face. She giggled.

"That's a nice name. I'm Sasha. Do you want to join my friend Alex and me for a drink? We're only over there."

Benji was disappointed to see the handsome, blond young man she indicated across the bar, and started to shake his head. But Sasha hadn't ever intended to give him a choice. She grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him over to the table.

"Alex, this is Benjamin. He was going to have that silly American whiskey, but I saved him."

Benji raised his eyebrows as he took a reluctant seat. "Ain't nothin' wrong with American whiskey."

Sasha giggled, dropping into a seat between the two boys. "Your accent is adorable. You're an American?"

Benji nodded, glancing curiously at the other boy. He was handsome and broad-shouldered, and didn't seem particularly thrilled with the fact that Sasha had brought Benjamin over.

"Alex's father is an American," she told him. "We were just talking about it. His father is an American, but his mother is British and Egyptian. Can you believe it? Blond hair and blue eyes, and he's Egyptian! Even if it's only a little bit. And my father is British, but my mother is Russian. And isn't it funny, _his_ name is Alexander, but of course he goes by Alex. And _my_ name is Aleksandra, but I go by Sasha. We have the same name! So you see, we're actually very interesting even if we don't look like it. You're the most normal person at the table. You wouldn't believe the scandal in my family. You'll both feel positively dull."

Benji found himself befuddled by her eager chatter, but he liked her accent and the way she smiled when she said everything. He thought she was pretty sitting there next to him, and he drank his scotch and listened to her.

"I was just about to tell Alex," she said, leaning closer, eyes twinkling. "You see, my mother was a maid in the home of...well, I'm not allowed to say. It's part of the secret. But he's _very_ important. And one night sixteen years ago, he got very drunk on Glenlivet, and he made love to my mother. Well, of course she got pregnant because here I am. But anyway, he got his maid pregnant and everyone would know if he kept her around. So he gave my mother a ton - just a_ ton_ - of money if she promised not to give me his name, and she quit working for him and bought this bar. So now you see how interesting I am. I'm the bastard daughter of a very important politician, and he pays my mother money every month just to keep everyone from finding out. And he's done it for sixteen years. So I'll go to college and everything, all because my father drank too much Glenlivet. You see, the most marvelous things happen when a man drinks Glenlivet, and that's why I got you some instead of American whiskey. I mean, has anything marvelous ever happened when you were drinking American whiskey?"

Benji couldn't say that it had. He sipped on his scotch and had the courage to tell her with a smirk, "I'm a bastard, too."

Sasha's eyes brightened up. "No! You too? Is your father also very important? Is he paying your mother?"

So Benji told her all about his mother marrying Dave Daniels to cover him up, and how he'd grown up his whole life thinking his father was someone else. He told her how he overheard the truth just by accident, and how he met his father and the whole mess it had caused. And all the while Sasha listened to him, captivated and amused, watching him with her wide dark eyes and biting her lip in suspense. No girl had ever looked at Benji like that before, and it made him nervous and excited all at once.

"Wow!" she said when he was all done, shaking her head in amazement. She glanced at Alex and gave him a jab with her elbow. "See that, O'Connell? _You're_ the most boring person at the table, even if you are a blond Egyptian." She turned back to Benji happily. "Alex's parents are married. He's not exciting enough to be a bastard like us."

Alex let out a terse little sigh. "I'm a bastard, too."

Sasha's eyes widened, and Benjamin found himself disappointed when her interest was ripped off of him and back onto the other boy. "Are you?"

Alex shrugged self-consciously. "Well, of a sort. My parents were married when I was born - "

"Then you ain't a bastard," Benji put in.

Sasha giggled and nodded her head. "That's right, Alex. You don't count."

Alex shot her a little glare. "Well, if you'd just_ listen_. I was saying that my parents were married when I was born, but they _weren't_ married when I was conceived."

Sasha blew a raspberry dismissively, though her eyes were still wide and amused. "That doesn't count, Alex. Do you know how many people pretend to have honeymoon babies?"

Alex let out an impatient sigh. "Why don't you let me tell the story, eh? Now, my mother was married to this horrid little man who caused a whole world of trouble and got himself in prison - "

"What did he do?" Sasha asked eagerly.

Alex gave her a stiff shrug and admitted, "I don't know...no one will tell me." He breathed sigh and regained himself. "But anyway, he was in prison. And in the meantime my parents fell in love and I was conceived. And my mother's husband was so dreadful that for a while they just waited for him to be killed in prison, only he wasn't. So then my grandfather started writing him letters demanding a divorce - "

Sasha stared at him, transfixed. "Did he divorce her?"

Alex shook his head. "He wouldn't do it unless my grandfather would get him out of prison."

"No!" she gasped. "So your grandfather arranged for this terrible man to be let out, just so your parents could get married?"

He nodded his head. "But that isn't even the most interesting part. My mother's former husband was so angry with her, he came to her house one day and tried to harm her."

Sasha's eyes nearly took over her face. "No! While you were a baby?"

Alex shook his head. "While she was still pregnant."

Sasha gasped, whirling around to Benjamin in shock. "Can you believe it?" Before he could answer, she turned back to Alex. "So what happened?"

"My mother shot him, and that was the end of it."

She stared at him. "You mean she _killed_ him?"

Alex shrugged stiffly. "No..."

"He_ survived?"_ she gasped. "My word, what a story!" She patted Alex's arm and let out a long sigh. "Well, there now. You've got me. You're just as interesting as Benjamin and me."

Sasha turned away from him suddenly, leaning back in her chair with an air of satisfaction. She glanced over at Benji and offered him a glittering smile, reaching a hand over to his. Her fingers curled over his knuckles and gave him a squeeze.

"Didn't I tell you marvelous things happen when you drink Glenlivet?" she asked him breathlessly. She gazed into his eyes and told him, "I just knew you were interesting when I saw you there." She released his hand just as suddenly, reaching her arms above her head in a luxurious stretch. "I simply can't believe how interesting we all are."

Alex chuckled, draining the last of his scotch. Benjamin took a nervous little sip of his as well, glancing between the two of them curiously. It had been a while since he'd been around anyone his own age, and he felt young and grown up all at once, sitting with other teenagers but drinking scotch like adults. He reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, and Sasha let out a little squeal, sitting up animatedly.

"Oh, Benny, you'll light me one, won't you?"

He flinched at the name, his fingers freezing on the carton. She frowned at him in confusion.

"What's the matter?"

Benjamin cleared his throat, and tried to be nonchalant when he said, "I - uh - it's Benji. I go by Benji."

"Oh," she laughed, resuming her previous countenance with a shrug. "If that's all. Well then_ Benji,_ you'll light me up one, won't you? You'll be a dear?"

He was happy to oblige her, passing her a cigarette and stealing a glance down the neckline of her dress when she leaned forward for him to light it. She sucked in a drag and breathed out a wistful sigh in a cloud of smoke.

"Oh, I want to do something wild," she said longingly. She might have missed how both boys sat up anxiously. She glance between the two of them with a devilish smile on her face. "Do you know what I want to do? Finish your scotch, Benji. You might not agree unless you're properly drunk."

Benjamin did as he was told and knocked back what was left of the scotch in a burning gulp. He did his best to hide the way his eyes welled up at its intensity, and leaned forward when Sasha beckoned them. She whispered, low and anxious:

"I want to go to that dress shop, on Seventh Street? I want to go and try on every dress."

Alex raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Now what's the point in that? You can go try on dresses during the day."

"Not _these_ dresses," she told him with sparkling, mischievous eyes. "These are wedding dresses. And they won't let you try on anything unless you've got an engagement ring. And this will probably be my only chance to try them on, because I'm much too interesting to ever get married."

Alex smirked, nudging her playfully with his elbow. "Really, Sasha? You'll never be married? Not even if I asked nicely, with the largest diamond you've ever seen?"

She giggled. "Not even then, O'Connell! I've already decided. I'm going to have a bastard with a wealthy man who'll have to pay me to keep quiet. And then my daughter will do the same thing. And we'll just keep doing it, for generations and generations, each of us more interesting than the last!"

Benji stifled a chuckle, and Sasha turned to him happily. "You'll take me to the dress shop, won't you, Benjamin? Alex thinks he's marrying me, so now he can't come along."

Alex balked. "Now why can't I come along?"

"Well dearest, _because..._it's bad luck to see a bride in her wedding dress."

He raised his eyebrows. "So we _are_ getting married, now?"

Sasha pouted back at him. "Well, aren't we? You just told me you were going to buy me the largest diamond I've ever seen - " She turned quickly to Benjamin. "Didn't he? Didn't he just say that he would?"

Benji blinked, and before he could stammer something in return, Sasha had whirled over to Alex again.

"You see, you simply can't come, darling," she told him.

"But - "

"Come on now, Benji," Sasha said, turning suddenly back to Benjamin. She popped out of her chair and took him by the elbow. Alex straightened in his seat and started to get up.

"I'm coming along," he told them definitively.

Sasha let out a sigh, and gave him a false scolding look. "Alright then, Alex. But you can't see me in the dresses. Deal?"

He rolled his eyes, but told her, "Deal."

Benjamin was thinking he might as well try and find a poker game if he was going to have to continue to compete for Sasha's attention with Alex, but the exuberant young woman slipped her hand under his elbow and he suddenly didn't want to pull away from her touch. She linked her other arm around Alex's, and the three of them started off into the night, Sasha chattering happily as she skipped along between them.

Seventh Street was even further from home than the bar was, but Benjamin didn't really pay that any mind. It was dark and a pretty girl was clinging to his arm (even if she _did_ have another boy on her other arm as well), and Sasha's excitement was infectious. He stole glances at her in the street lamps, gazing at the lips she'd painted red and smiling when she glanced up at him with her big, dark eyes. He didn't really pay attention to anything she said, but he liked the sound of her voice, so bright and lyrical and breathless. He liked everything about her, even more than he'd ever liked about other girls.

She pulled them around to the back of the bridal shop, eyeing up the back door like a new beau.

"There's the troublemaker," she said, glancing between them. "I'm positive there's a way to get in, but I just don't know it."

Without any other prompt, Alex slipped out of her arm and strode to the door, examining the hinges and the lock with a frown. He took hold of the doorknob and threw his weight into the door, but it wouldn't budge. Benjamin stifled a snicker.

"You won't be able to force it open," he told him.

Alex turned and shot him a look. "Well don't just stand there, mate. Come give me a hand."

With a sigh, Benji reluctantly stepped away from Sasha and over to the door. He stared hard at the foreboding lock for a moment before glancing around the frame. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully at a particular place at the top, and strode over to Alex.

"Hey, gimme a leg up."

"What?"

Benji jerked his head at the doorframe, and Alex rose his eyebrows incredulously. "Who would be stupid enough to stick a spare key up there?"

Benjamin ignored him, trying to get up on his toes.

"Here, Benji," Sasha said, skipping over to him. "Give_ me_ a leg up."

Benjamin laced his fingers together in a foothold, and she stepped in, steading herself on his shoulder as she peered at the doorframe in the darkness of the alleyway. She felt along the top of the frame, and Benji tried not to breathe too nervously at the smell of her perfume and the close warmth of her body.

"Aha!" she declared happily, holding up a key. She turned over to Alex, triumphant and smug. "And _you_ thought they wouldn't hide a spare key."

"Everybody hides a spare key," Benji said under his breath as he gently helped her down again. He could feel Alex eyeing him.

"And what are you, a thief or something?"

Benjamin met his eyes, ready to retort, but Sasha interrupted him.

"Oh, I'll bet he is!" she said excitedly. "You're a wanted man, aren't you, Benji? I'll bet you lead the most interesting life."

Benjamin shrugged. He wasn't going to argue with her fantasy, not when she was so very enchanted with it. She thrust the key into the lock and pushed open the door, and the three of them crept into the dark quiet of the shop.

"Don't turn on a light," she whispered. She glanced all around the store and let out a sigh. "I'll bet there's a light in the dressing room. We'll go in the back and turn that light on, and they'll be none the wiser from the street."

They followed her further back into the shop, and she found the light. The stood in the narrow hall of a row of dressing rooms, all leading up to an enormous mirror that took up an entire wall. There was a platform in front of the mirror where the bride could stand, and a velvet couch where her mother and friends could sit and admire her. Sasha bit back a squeal and raced over to it, bouncing up to the platform and striking a pose before noticing her reflection.

"Ooh, why didn't you boys tell me I looked so dreadful?" she asked, pulling the pins out of her victory rolls. They watched in silence as she unraveled her hair and combed her fingers through it, arranging it with a dismal frown on her face. "I look positively beastly."

"Not at all, darling," Alex said with that charming kind of smoothness handsome boys possess. He strode down the hall to her, and Benjamin followed after, disgruntled.

Sasha looked at him with a suspicious, scolding eye. "This is the kind of bad luck I should have expected, bringing a groom to a bridal parlor."

Alex raised his eyebrows, and she took both of his hands in hers, giving him one of her sweet and endearing smiles. "Now, darling. I want you to go outside and wait."

He scoffed. "Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Why not him?" he asked, jerking his thumb back at Benjamin. Sasha met his eyes evenly.

"Because I'm not marrying Benji, I'm marrying you. And you can't see me in my dress. It's bad luck."

Alex slipped his hands from hers and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. Then he's coming outside with me."

Sasha sucked in a gasp. "Oh, no! You can't leave me here alone in this big empty store! It's creepy."

Alex started to protest, but she shoved him along back down the hall. "Now go on, O'Connell. You wait outside and make sure no one gets suspicious. And I promise I'll find the most beautiful wedding dress you've ever seen, and Benji here will help me steal it. He's a wanted man, after all. And then we'll go to the courthouse, and I'll kiss you square on the mouth, I promise."

He straightened his shoulders and eyed her, as if he wasn't entirely certain how much of this was play and how much was serious. But she was staring into his eyes, and she lost her smile when she told him she'd kiss him. She'd meant that much, at least, and that was apparently enough to quiet Alex. He straightened his shoulders and strode to the back entrance, paying a special mind to shove past Benjamin and give him a hard, warning look. Benji grinned back at him innocently, but he couldn't help shooting a little glare at his back once he was gone.

"Now. I need a dress," Sasha declared. "You go sit on that couch, Benji. And you must be honest with me. If a dress looks dreadful, you have to say so. This is my wedding we're talking about."

She made him agree, and then she hurried into the dark store. With nothing else to do, Benjamin found his way to the velvet sofa and settled down. He felt a strange excitement pulsing through him, an anxious energy at knowing that he was here alone with Sasha in this wide, empty store - that she'd kicked Alex outside instead of him, and that they'd broken into this place and at any moment, _any_ moment they might be caught -

Sasha rushed back into the hall with half a dozen dresses in her arms and slipped into the first available dressing room. He heard the rustle of her clothes and gulped anxiously, reaching in his pocket for a new cigarette. It was just him and her in this wide, empty store, and she was taking her clothes off,_ right now_ -

"Oh, jeeze!" she exclaimed all the sudden. "Benji?"

He flinched at the sound of his name. "Yeah?"

"I can't get these darned buttons. Come and get them for me."

Benji swallowed hard and dropped his cigarette, squelching it in the carpet with the toe of his shoe. He virtually ran over to the dressing room and waited for her to open the door. She threw it open and glanced up at him helplessly for barely a moment before turning her back to him.

"See?" she said.

She was wearing a long, lace gown with what looked like a hundred tiny buttons up the back to Benji, and she'd only managed to get the first six or so. The dress was open from the nape of her neck all down to her waist, and she stood there with her hands on her hips, her fingers drumming against the ivory lace impatiently.

"This is the one, I can tell it already," she said. "Only I can't get the buttons..."

Benji's hands shook as he touched the smooth little buttons, frowning in nervous perplexity at the delicate loops and wondering how he'd ever get them all done. How he'd manage to fasten the dress at all, with her back so smooth and soft when his fingertips brushed against her skin. He watched goosebumps flare all the way up to her neck and wanted, wanted so badly just to feel her under his hands...

"What was it like to meet your father?" she whispered, not quite looking at him over her shoulder.

Benji's hand dropped awkwardly to his sides, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to focus on her question.

"Um, I don't know. Peculiar, I reckon. I look just like him, so it was kinda queer, lookin' at someone I looked so much like...I'd never seen nobody who'd looked like me before. Not like that."

Sasha was staring down at the floor. "I've never met my father."

"Really?" Benjamin asked in surprise. "Even though you know who he is?"

She nodded her head, and gulped back a nervous swallow. "He didn't want me. I mean, he could've married my mum, but he simply didn't want to. He didn't want anyone to know he'd sleep with someone like her..." She sighed, and said very softly, "I don't know why he doesn't want me..." She looked up at him with a very serious expression on her face, in the depths of her eyes so dark and drawing. She stared at him, desperate and nervous, and said, "I mean, _you_ want me, don't you, Benji?"

All he could do was kiss her, even though he'd never kissed a girl before. All he could do was take her in his arms and kiss her hard, and hope that he didn't come off like a fool to a girl who was much to pretty to have never been kissed before. Who was much too pretty not to know if he was doing it wrong. But she didn't stop him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, and when their lips parted, she didn't laugh at him like he was terrified she might. She stared up at him as desperate and as nervous as ever.

"Please kiss me again," she whispered after a moment.

So he kissed her again. He kissed her and held her and prayed she just wouldn't stop his hands. He prayed he wouldn't upset her, or hurt her, or -

"You can have me," she told him in a voice that trembled against his ear. "As long as you promise you won't get me in trouble, you can have me."

He promised he wouldn't get her in trouble, and took her.


	9. beni

**_Author's Note. _**_Hey, remember this story? Yeah, me too. I re-read through it a couple nights ago and decided it was time for an update. However, the update was agonizing, even though it's an interaction between two characters that I love. WRITER'S BLOCK._

**_Disclaimer. _**_The characters of _The Mummy_ are the property of Universal Studios. The title is taken from the song "Someone Like You" by Adele, because screw finding another Johnny Cash song, I guess (I actually love Johnny Cash. Let's not start a war over that). The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from the song "Somebody to Love" by Jefferson Airplane. The ranch and setting take a heavy cue from the film _Giant_. As far as I know, Blackbird, Texas is a town of my own invention._

* * *

**SOMEONE LIKE YOU**

* * *

your eyes, i say your eyes may look like his  
but in your head, baby, you don't know where it is.  
don't you want somebody to love?  
don't you need somebody to love?  
wouldn't you love somebody to love?  
you better find somebody to love.

**beni**.

_The Gabor Residence: Alexandria, Egypt 1942_

"You've just been letting him roam about the city like a vagrant every night?"

Beni let out a groan. _"Jemima..."_

She shook her head, glaring across the room at him. "Do you even have any idea where he goes?"

He met her eyes wearily. "Jemima, he's_ fine."_

"How would_ you_ know?" she demanded. "How would you ever know? If he gets his throat slit or - or - or drinks himself into a stupor and dies of alcohol poisoning in an alleyway, how would you ever know?"

Beni let out an impatient sigh. "My God, Jemima, he isn't that stupid." He reached for his coffee and took a long sip. "He _is_ plenty stupid, but I blame that on you."

Jemima's eyes narrowed in offense for a moment, but she quickly retrieved her conceited countenance. "That's dreadfully rich, coming from a man who couldn't even sign his own name until he was thirty-six."

Beni scoffed, pulling an expression of mocked offense. "Be careful, my dear. You will hurt my feelings."

"You don't have any feelings," she snapped. She looked him over with a scrutinizing eye, and after a moment, "What are you getting out of this, anyway?"

Beni leaned back in his wheelchair and stared back at her superiorly, taking another sip of coffee. "I get the joy of at last becoming acquainted with my only son - "

"Oh, pigs' swallow," she retorted.

Beni's eyes became wide and pitiful, and he could see how she hated him for it. "Why would I not want to get to know my son? Why would I turn him away from my door?"

Jemima rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest emphatically. "I want to know what's going on here, Beni. If you truly cared for him, you wouldn't let him go wander about Cairo by himself at night."

It was all he could do just to stare at her, a genuinely perplexed look on his face. He stared at her and she stared back persistently, until at last he managed to say:

"Are you trying to make a joke? He is eighteen years old - "

"I don't care - "

"Do you know what I was doing when I was eighteen years old? God, when I was _ten_ years old?"

Jemima's eyes narrowed. "I don't care what your negligent mother let you do when you were a child! Clearly it served you no good - "

Beni glared at her. "It has done me better than you did for our son. At least I know how to take care of myself - "

"You mean steal and leech off of everybody - "

He pointed an accusatory finger at her. "I know how to scrape by._ You_ just coddled him stupid."

Jemima opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat, and she stopped short. She stared at him, that same look of scrutiny leaking into her mismatched eyes, and an expression came over her face that managed to be smug and revolted at the same time.

"He's stupid?" she whispered. "And how have you worked_ that_ to your advantage?"

Beni crossed his arms over his chest and stared nonchalantly at the wall. "I have worked nothing to my advantage. Stop being cruel to me."

Jemima stared him down for a moment longer before turning her attention to the room, as if truly noticing it for the first time. Beni knew she was taking in the new sofa and the new wallpaper and all the new furniture and décor, but he pretended not to notice. He drank his coffee and stared straight ahead until she said in a voice that only sounded noncommittal:

"You've spruced things up since I was here last."

Beni grumbled, "Yes. So what?"

She met his eyes and stared at him for a suspicious moment, her lips pressed together. "Are you using him to steal for you, or something of that nature?"

Beni put on his best face of utter astonishment. "Of course not. How dare you suggest that I would use my only son for my own personal gain!"

"Stop with that rubbish, Beni. I know you as well as anybody."

"You don't know me at all."

She looked at him hard. "I know plenty."

Beni sucked in a breath, tilted his head to the side and told her cruelly, "You let me fuck you twenty years ago and you read a few newspaper articles. Don't think that you know anything about me."

But she didn't crumble the way he might have hoped she would. She met his eyes without blinking and said, "You're a pathetic, horrible little shell of a man and there's no saving you. That's all anyone needs to know about you."

Beni's eyes narrowed with insult, but only for a second. A nasty grin found its way into the corners of his mouth. "Well you are lonely and desperate. You always were lonely and desperate."

She rolled her eyes and let out a weary sigh. "Well that would explain how our little situation came to pass, wouldn't it?"

He studied her there on that ugly sofa - the one that cost too much and made his eyes sore - and noticed how she sat so straight and prim, but that corner of her mouth jerked compulsively. That corner of her mouth that always used to smirk so coy and enticing - at him and everybody; now she looked as though she'd forgotten how to smirk. How to wear that coquettish expression that always used to grace her face, that always used to make her look like she was contemplating sweet, devilish little sins. She didn't look the way he remembered her looking now that she wasn't smirking.

He wondered what he ever found interesting in her at all. She was tiresome and snooty. He always remembered her like a second serving of dessert - something he didn't need and wasn't good for him and would certainly make him sick, but he wanted just the same. He supposed he had to compare her to dessert because he'd been castrated almost twenty years ago, and he didn't really think about women in sexual terms anymore. He'd discovered that he didn't really like women at all. He thought he liked them, and he supposed he still liked them more than men, who were competitive and bullish and unsympathetic. But he'd quickly realized the only thing he'd ever liked about women - and probably the only thing he ever liked about Jemima - was their ability to satisfy a gaping thirst within him that was now quelled, permanently.

When he thought about how much time he'd wasted and how many risks he'd taken just to screw somebody, he became perturbed and irritable. It was hard to imagine the time that had gone into that stupid preoccupation now that the thirst was gone.

He didn't want women anymore. He liked having his sister here to cook and clean, but that was all. He didn't want women and he didn't want Jemima, and as he looked at her sitting there, he felt as though he could see her objectively. Where once he might have been distracted by her eyes or her lips or her breasts or her legs, and had his mind overrun with useless and fleeting images, he now just saw her. Not even forty, and perfectly miserable. He saw that.

"What are you doing in Egypt, anyway?" he asked after a moment.

Jemima blinked. "I came to collect Benji - "

"Why? He will go to jail in America for draft-dodging."

"Well, I..." She shifted in her seat, fumbling about for the words as she fished a cigarette out of her purse. "I - I was worried about him. I had to be certain he was alright."

Beni's mouth twisted suspiciously. "How did you know he was here?"

Jemima's brow furrowed, and she looked at him in confusion for a moment before glancing at her hands. "My sister wrote me - "

"Then you knew he was fine. Why are you here?"

Her gaze jerked up to his, narrowed and defensive. "How could I know that? God knows what he's been up to under your care - "

"You could have written him. The trip seems a little...excessive?" Beni delighted in the way she twitched uncomfortably in her seat, a grim smile creeping into his eyes. "How does Mr. Daniels feel about you being here?"

Jemima swallowed hard, staring stubbornly down at the floor. Her posture wasn't so straight and prim anymore. "I wouldn't know how he feels about it..."

Beni let out the mocking of a sympathetic, "Oh!" and gazed at her with wide eyes, an exaggerated expression of sorrow on his face. "Has something happened in the Daniels' household?"

He heard her suck in an irritated breath. "It isn't any of your business, but we're getting divorced."

"My deepest condolences."

"I'm sure."

Beni chuckled, reaching for his cup of coffee. He started to take a sip, but it had gone cold and stale, so he shouted in Hungarian for Piri to come and bring him more. He heard something muffled from the kitchen about being out of coffee, and he grumbled a few curses before taking a half-hearted sip from his cup in defeat.

He let out a sigh and looked at Jemima again. "So will you be staying in Egypt now?"

She startled, her eyes widening nervously. She swallowed hard and took a nervous puff of her cigarette. "Oh, um...I don't really know. I've Betsy still back home - she's in her last year of high school - and I really shouldn't stay here, only..." Her lips contorted, and she sniffed bravely, and he saw how she was trying not to let a choked sob give her away. He saw that. She took a breath and regained her composure. "Only I'm not sure what else to do. Lionel's in Germany fighting and Betsy would rather live with her father, anyway, and..."

Jemima sat up, and she looked him in the eye very honestly, lonely and desperate as ever. "And everybody knows about you and I, Beni. Everybody knows. All the people in that sad little clutter of a town know that David isn't Benji's real father, and I just can't bear to go back."

Beni jerked a shrug, and finished the last cold dregs of his coffee.

"Well," he said, "there is no use in going back to a place you are not wanted."

She looked at him through a veil of smoke, without animosity or anger or disdain. She looked at him very simply, a succinct way about her posture and the set of her mouth. She looked at him, and he saw a glimmer of somebody who used to interest him, who used to amuse him. She wasn't smirking, but he remembered, much to fleetingly, why he'd ever liked her at all.

"I feel exactly the same way," she said, snubbing out the rest of her cigarette in the silver ashtray on the side table next to her. Breathing a ruthless sigh, she stood up and straightened her shoulders, and looked at him again. "I'm going to leave now. Benjamin told me that he'd prefer to stay with you, and as he's much to large to carry kicking and screaming anywhere, I suppose I've no choice but to let him have his way."

Beni shrugged, his eyes wandering over to the clock. He was vaguely aware of the nervous way she shifted her weight, and looked up at her when she cleared her throat.

"Would you mind terribly if I came by sometimes to visit him?"

Beni's nose wrinkled distastefully. "Why don't you have him over to your sister's?"

"I don't want to inconvenience her."

"But you would inconvenience me."

Jemima let out a determined sigh and stared at him persistently. "Beni, please. I don't know what my situation is here yet, and I haven't got a place for him to come visit. I'm the only mother he has; would it really be so dreadful for you to see me occasionally?"

Beni glared at the floor and shrugged stiffly.

"I get the feeling you're just being withholding on purpose."

He wheezed a sigh and rolled his eyes, turning his impatient glare up to her again. "Fine. You can come and visit. But call ahead, eh? You cannot just burst through my door any time you please."

Jemima raised her eyebrows. "Fair enough."


End file.
